


Will You Be Alright?

by stephmuji



Category: Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day (2008)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 17:35:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephmuji/pseuds/stephmuji
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A montage of events from early in Guinevere's life. Less than light-hearted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Will You Be Alright?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emiline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emiline/gifts).



“Guin --”

“I truly dislike you calling me Guin, Charles.”

“Guin,” Charles laughs, clapping an arm across Guinevere’s slender shoulders, “I need to go. Tell me truly - will you be alright?” They are nearly on the train platform before Charles’ attitude turns anywhere near serious or formal. When Guinevere nods without meeting her fiancé’s gaze, Charles moves in front of her, bending at the knee in order to look Guinevere in the eye.

“You do not have to do this.”

“Yes I do, Guinevere; I’ve orders.” It is not offered harshly. Charles takes off his cap and fidgets with the brim. “I love you. We both know the risks of this, but we also both know what boons my being in the army can bring us.”

Guinevere knows all too well. Orphan and the vicar’s daughter, both young, without much in the way of means.

“But what if --”

“No ‘what if’, my dear. It will not help either of us. Keep my picture, and keep my heart.”

Guinevere smiles before kissing him.  
\---  
The military office in the center of the village was, as is to be expected, the first place any concerned family member could go to find out the fate of loved ones suspected of being in the direct line of fire during the war. The second place someone could walk to, knock on the door or walk straight inside, was the church. Usually some concerned townsperson would come looking for the Reverend Robert Pettigrew so that he could know who to watch over when the bodies were returned. If they were returned.

“Guinevere?” Robert called out, walking into the small rectory kitchen where his daughter was bent over a pot still left to be scrubbed. The young woman’s hands stop moving as soon as her father’s footfalls echo, and she nods.

“Charles.”  
\---  
Mr. Pettigrew is uncharacteristically sullen as he reads the standard prayers, hoping comfort can be found for others where he usually finds his own. He pauses much more than usual during this service, in between his amens. It is hard not to pause, with his daughter utterly silent in the last pew of his small church. He recognizes with a jolt the altered dark frock of Guinevere’s mother’s - formal mourning. Out of fashion.

Traditional.

Oh, my daughter, Robert clutches his missal, and waits until the sanctuary clears. His daughter seems to have barely noticed the slow retreat of people paying their respects to Charles, and so startles when Robert sits down next to her.

“You do not have to remain here, Guinevere,” Robert proffers the truth, unneeded. Guinevere is already shaking her head.

“He had no one. It is the reason he volunteered in the first place. Of course I am going to stay.”

“Until...?”

Guinevere looks to her father in confusion. “Until I am no longer needed.”  
\---  
It is another two years before Robert takes ill, and six months afterward Guinevere knocks on her neighbor’s door with red-rimmed eyes, quietly asking for use of their automobile to inform the pastor at the next town that she has need of his services.  
\---  
The idea that Guinevere Pettigrew could live in the house that she was raised in, surrounded by all her memories of her long-passed mother, and her recently-deceased father, everything they had shared, was never something to which Guinevere had clung. She knew that at some point she would have to face the idea that the parish would need the house back to provide housing for whomsoever wanted the quiet work of replacing Robert.

"I'm just so sorry about all of this, Guinevere," Patricia offers - the only woman who kept up appearances of interest in Guinevere's life after Robert died, but that didn't stop Miss Pettigrew from wishing she could just get away. "Have you had any luck whatsoever in finding a post?"

"I have, actually!" Guinevere forces a small amount of brightness. She has gained some talent of late in obfuscation; her father would call it lying. "A most challenging position, but I look forward to the work." Guinevere tells Patricia the promising details of the new governess position she has accepted. Two children, a boy and a girl, and of the right age to start working at the vital subjects with which every truly learned person should have at least nominal experience - theology, handwriting, works with the literary classics, and a good solid grounding in Christian politeness and manners.

She does not share the concerns she has of whether or not anyone will like her. Or if she will be able to make friends. Or if she will even do a good job, having never worked outside of the church before. Since when did she truly care about wanting or needing friends before Charles? After? It is an influence she adored before he left; she has abhorred it after his body returned to his final rest not one hundred yards out Guinevere's back door.

"Well it sounds as though you have everything well in hand, Guinevere," Patricia offers with no small amount of sincerity. "I do wish you all the best with it - and don't you worry about your things in the house. We'll make sure they are nice and safe for you to claim once you have a permanent appointment with your family."

"Everything I need I am taking with me."

"But what about your father's books -- "

"Donate them to the next family who arrives here."

"Your mother's jewelry?" An uncharacteristic roll of the eyes from Guinevere at that. She had sold off what little there was of the late Mrs. Pettigrew's finery to cover recent expenses and upkeep of the house while she was still living there.

Guinevere points to the suitcase by the door. "No - I have what I need there. Do not worry about me, Patricia. Everything is like you said - well in hand."

"I will leave you to it then!" Patricia heads out the door after a short, minutely awkward embrace. She holds the door open for the burly men who are moving ornate, new furniture into the house. Another new tenant already. The town has gone too long with an open post here.

There is no reason to stay.

Guinevere looks to her bag again, reaches to pick it up, and walks out the door. It is time for her to live her own life, she thinks. She does not quite know how she will manage that just yet, but she imagines one can only decide those things one day at a time.

**Author's Note:**

> I had a tough time writing this! I tend to want to write Shiny Happy Things, but that didn't seem appropriate here. I do hope you like this, and I thank you for both the challenge of your prompt and for loving this sometimes neglected book/movie!


End file.
